The GBR Project Ch.9 Day Three. To Reading and Eton
Day 3 From Aldermaston to Windsor
Slow travel had much to recommend itself as so many like Doctor Johnson, Cobham, Ogilby, Fiennes and Dick Whittington had all previously confirmed in their writings. My destination today was a town steeped in history and significance. Windsor and Eton beckoned.
On the way to Reading!
After a heavy 18th century breakfast including a rich black pudding that Pickwick would have loved I set off. A little late some might think. Slow travel shouldn’t be rushed and coffee is essential after breakfast. I went back the way I had come yesterday and joined the river path that would take me to Reading. After an hour on this pretty but bumpy track I was beginning to get semi nostalgic for the A4. Not really but the constant bobbing up and down does take it’s toll on the derriere. Stopped for coffee in Reading and then as the cycle route signs disappear or get lost in towns I was on my own without a compass or a guide. I headed for the station as I could se that route 4 passed close by. This kind of worked although consequently realised I could/should have followed the kennet through King’s meadow until I joined the Thames. Anyway when you’re on your own and have no responsibilities to anyone else getting lost a bit hardly matters. A wrong route could even be more interesting and basically all roads lead to Rome. Although I hope not but you know what I mean.
This road actually led to maidenhead via Wargrave, Knowl Hill and Littlewood Green and was close to our old friend and constant companion the A4. According to the map I should have been able to cross over the A4 but came to no crossroads or sign to lead the way across the super killer highway. I stopped and looked like an explorer meeting an uncrossable river in the jungles of Borneo. Adjusting my pith helmet I took out the map and frowningly looked at it searching for options. A man in a big SUV pulled up alongside me, wound down the window to ask if I was lost. Hell yes Stanley! He got out and we studied the map together and got talking, as you do… well as I do! It turned out that we had more in common than being at the same junction at that same precise moment in time. A relative of his had lived in the same road in Ipswich as my grandmother. A mere 20 degrees of separation. He also went to a school in Suffolk that my school used to compete against. OMG we we’re almost related. Jim was a nice kind man and his help reminded me of the journalist Kate Adie’s book ‘The kindness of strangers’. He put me on the right road as I’d missed a small turning behind me. In all my travels around the world I have found that when you are alone and look lost many people come to your rescue. As would I. In fact Jim wasn’t the only friendly sole I met that day. But one friend at a time so back on the yellow brick road number 4 to find myself in the suburbs of Maidenhead and Slough. Not unpleasant just very forgettable. The only stop I had was in Bray home of the famous Fat Duck restaurant which I passed. The doorway was so discreet and tasteful that I didn’t notice it until someone pointed it out from where I supped my double latte. The NCR4 took my steed and I into Windsor via Dorney and Bovency two places I admittedly had never heard of or noticed until just now whilst looking at the route I had taken.
The Cycle tracks sometimes crossed fields of corn and sometimes just petered out altogether
Still kind man number 2 coming up. This one, who I found out later, was called Kyle helped me navigate into Windsor and Eton, my resting place for the night. I was riding along probably a little bit lost but not feeling especially so (all signs had vanished like mirages in the desert). He was also was riding along on his bike going in the same direction. So pulling alongside him I asked him the best way into town. He looked up with surprise. Or was it fear as I continued to explain myself. I guess it was a little unorthodox, but it seemed natural enough to me as I couldn’t exactly force him off the road. I guess there were other options. One being not to have bothered this poor individual at all. Bolstered as I was by the belief that everyone wants to help others when given the opportunity, I continued to press him. Or pester him I suppose. He was actually very helpful in confirming my optimism about humanity.
My arrival in Windsor coincided with a football match of some kind!
We had a lovely ride into Windsor together and once we’d arrived I knew rather a lot more about Kyle’s life and ambitions. I knew he didn’t mind opening up to a stranger and when he arrived at his turnoff, he made the decision to show me a better way so that I was left safely in the centre and clearly on my way to the Christopher Hotel. We parted on very good terms and feel the experience was life enhancing for both of us. These random connections and human exchanges are the life blood of Real Travel and they are a joy. Slow travel is the way to go and so much more rewarding than the fierce, competitive, efficient, productive and smelly journeys with their big fat carbon footprints! The A4 for instance is a Tim and Kyle free zone. There is no time or opportunity for that unproductive frivolous meeting of simple minds. Even the design of cars and trains minimise the opportunities for human exchange.
The Journey wasn’t all ha-ha, hee-hee. Sometimes modern life got in the way.
Arriving in Windsor
Coming into Windsor was like arriving into a welcome port after a rough day on the high seas. The sun was shining and glistening on the river sliding sheets of invisible light to every surface which in turn reflected it back like so many whispering echoes.
Windsor was looking magnificent with light bouncing from the river or windows of buildings
I found the hotel after crossing the bridge over which the massive Windsor castle loomed like an medieval beast of prey. A receptionist (Luigi) with a hilariously extravagent handlebar moustache and the most terribly discoloured teeth booked me in behind the obligatory Covid safe Perspex shield. Another friendly member of staff (Kirsty) showed me to the staff room where I could stow the bike. Staff rooms are always pretty horrid; this was no exception with clobber everywhere and a multitude of tin ash trays piled high with cancerous residue. It was kind of them though and in fact I found this thoughtful consideration re the safety of the bike wherever I went. Having had one bike stolen 3 days after purchase I didn’t want to make the same careless mistake again. My room was fine, I had some video fun with the air conditioner by pretending I was suffering from a terrible fever in some malarial hotspot. When left alone I am prone. Prone to many things to which I didn’t succumb but the one I enjoy the most is being a little bit mad. Like unrequited love, boredom is often the bedfellow of creativity. Anyway it amused me to make this film for a brief while but you must make of it what you will!
Day 4 From Windsor to London - The Big Smoke (but not anymore!)
Nearly there